


moonlight sonata

by thepensword



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, Found Family, Gen, Platonic Relationships, introspective, no shIPPING just let me have this fukcign found family goddamnit, no ships!!!!!! no ships, nott loves her family so much guys im emotional okay, set sometime after episode 49 just go with it, spoilers for episode 49, spoilers for nott's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepensword/pseuds/thepensword
Summary: “Can we talk?” says Mollymauk.





	moonlight sonata

**Author's Note:**

> i am doing literally everything i can think of to procrastinate my schoolwork so i honestly have no idea what this is or where it came from

“Can we talk?” says Mollymauk.

It is night. The others are presumably asleep, cozy in their beds, but Nott is restless. She kisses Caleb’s cheek—soft, like a child pressing his laughing fingers into the lines of your face—and clambers out of bed, grabbing her cloak and heading for the window.

“ _Was?_ ” murmurs Caleb, still mostly asleep. Nott pauses, one hand braced against the sill, and turns back towards him.

“Shhh,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

Frumpkin hops up beside her, green eyes watching her intensely, but Caleb settles down again so she counts it as a win. Careful not to disturb the silver thread, Nott climbs outside and pulls herself up the wall until she gets a hand on the lip of the roof. Frumpkin leaps ahead of her and waits, tail curled around his paws, as she clambers over the ledge onto the gentle slope of the rooftop.

The moon is bright and pale, up here, illuminating the surrounding rooftops and turning the streets to shadow. Nott settles down with a sigh and pulls her knees up to her chest.

A jingle of metal jewelry, the swish of fabric. “Can we talk?” says Mollymauk, and Nott pulls her knees even closer. She wishes she brought her flask up to the roof with her, even if it would have made the climbing harder.

“Yeah,” she says eventually. The air in her lungs is cool, not cold, but she pulls her hood up anyway. She can’t stand her shadow stretching in front of her, all goblin ears and goblin tail. If she pulls the hood close enough to her head and tucks her tail up around her legs like Frumpkin did, she can look at her silhouette and pretend she’s someone else.

( _Veth,_ says Yeza, and the air is cool, not cold, and their shadows pool around them in the silver moonlight. _Will you marry me?_ )

“Nott,” says Molly. He sits beside her, legs criss-crossed, palms flat against the rooftop behind him and arms propping him up. “I wanted to apologize.”

One goblin ear flicks. It’s funny how it does that sometimes, without her even telling it to, like tears in your throat when you do not wish them or a laugh that bubbles up unbidden. She’s never really sure how she feels about that. She should hate it, she knows, but really it is a bit like an eyebrow for raising or a nose for wrinkling and even if it’s foreign, it’s hers now. This body is hers. (She hates that, too.)

“For what?”

Molly sighs. It’s a long sound, like a breath of autumn wind. “A while ago, back in Zadash, I said some things. About me. About the past.”

She remembers. Of course she does. “Oh?” she says, and does not look at him. Frumpkin moves closer and slips between her chest and her folded legs. She wraps her arms around him and digs her claws into his fur. _Caleb had better be asleep,_ she thinks. _He needs his rest if he’s going to grow_ ~~_up big and_ ~~ _strong(er)._ ~~_Like your daddy never did, eh? HEY. It’s true!_ ~~

“Yes,” says Molly. “I told you that whoever I was before I died didn’t matter. Fuck him. I said your past is only there to trap you, and it’s best to move forward. I told you that the person before the grave was inconsequential and unworthy of remembrance.”

“Mm,” says Nott. She wonders if they ever found the body, if she ever got a grave. Maybe. Maybe.

There’s a hand on her shoulder, suddenly. Long fingers, heavy with rings. Well-manicured nails. Molly always smells of flowers, she thinks, and she almost laughs at the thought. Even after weeks on the road he still smells like flowers.

“Nott,” says Molly. There’s something sad in his tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. If I’d known, I’d never have said that. Who I was before doesn’t matter, but it’s not that way for everyone. Not that way for you.”

“It’s okay,” she starts to say, but Molly’s arm is sliding around her shoulders and pulling her close, cutting her off. She lets herself sink into it, closes her eyes to the night sky and loses herself in the soft fabric and smell of flowers. Gods, she misses him.

“You’ll get it back,” says Molly softly, after a while. “If there’s one thing I know about people, it’s that those who matter to each other have a tendency to find each other again. It’s all about connections, you know? That’s what makes you _you,_ not your sharp teeth or yellow eyes. It’s who you love.”

She tries to speak. She can’t. Choking on tears is a little bit like drowning except so much sadder.

“Do you still love them?”

A nod. It’s all she can manage. Frumpkin’s paws starfish on her legs and she squeezes him even tighter. Perhaps too tight, but he doesn’t complain. He’s good like that. She feels bad for all the times she’s tried to eat him.

“Of course,” says Nott-Veth Brenatto, the Brave. “Of course I still love them.”

“Then you’ll find them again.”

“And what about you?”

Molly chuckles and leans back a bit, throwing his head back to look up at the moon. His horn jewelry chimes softly with the motion, glinting bright in the moonlight like stars fallen around his face. “Oh, Nott the Brave. Are you saying you love me?”

“Yes.”

(Yes, she loves him. Of course she does. She loves him and she loves Caleb and she loves Jester and Beau and Yasha and Fjord and Caduceus and oh, how she _aches,_ how she _aches_ for how much she loves them all.)

“Then I think you know.”

The soft chime of jewelry. The smell of flowers. A raven calls overhead, black feathers wheeling above the rooftops.

Nott the Brave wakes up.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> idk im emotional
> 
> leave a comment or visit me [tungle](https://thepensword.tumblr.com)


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